


Together We're Infinite

by Keep_Looning



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: At least as historical as this can get, Blood, But mostly focused on their relationship, Fluff, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Light Angst, Like really cute, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Retelling of history, SO MUCH FLUFF, So this is supposed to be cute, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Looning/pseuds/Keep_Looning
Summary: “Italy, united we can be the Great Roman Empire once again. Let’s join and we can become the strongest country in the world together!”"...Okay."A retelling of history if Italy had agreed to Holy Rome all those years ago.Don't let the 'history' thing scare you off, this is a story that focuses on the development of Italy and Holy Rome's relationship as they grow up through the years. What if they really got to grow up together? How would Italy be different? Would there even be a modern-day Germany? And what of the rest of the world?There's fluff, fluff, and more fluff abound as Italy and Holy Rome take the world by storm, hand in hand.
Relationships: Holy Roman Empire & North Italy (Hetalia), Holy Roman Empire/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

It was a gorgeous day out. Of course, the days were always perfect here. The rolling green hills reached ever-upwards to crash into the stunning azure skies. The sun filtered through the dappled leaves, bathing the land with its radiance and comforting warmth. Even the bumblebees seemed to buzz just a bit friendlier here, and delicate flowers adorned the sprawling meadows. The land shone with an innocent type of beauty that was rather curious for a place so ancient. But then again, this was in essence who Italy was.

The young country was humming quietly to himself as he grasped a small broom in his hands. He was, as always, instructed to clean. But Mr. Austria had wanted him out of the house — he had some rather important meetings that day. So Italy had grabbed his broom and retreated to one of the quieter parts of the yard, right next to the garden.

Realizing that it was entirely pointless, but not wanting to displease his boss, Italy decided to sweep outside in the grass. What he was sweeping was unknown even to him, but he swept nonetheless. 

Italy frowned to himself as he kept humming. Things had been rather tense in his house lately, and though Italy was naive in his young age, he was not stupid. He realized that something rather significant was about to happen, and all he could do was hope that they weren’t on the precipice of war.

With a slight shake of his head, Italy kept on sweeping. It wouldn’t do to dwell on such dark thoughts. His little green dress was stained by ugly dark spots, no doubt a result of the dirt he was kicking up with his broom. With a small pout, he reached a hand down and tried to rub away some of the stains there. It didn’t work, and with a sigh he realized that he was going to have to ask Miss Hungary to wash it.

The sun was shining high in the sky, and Italy couldn’t help but turn his face to it as he soaked in its warmth. He heard a bush rustle, and Italy brought his gaze back down. There, peeking curiously out at him from behind the tall hedge, sat a little white rabbit. Italy’s face beamed, waving cutely as he called out, “Hi there! What are you doing under there?”

The rabbit (obviously) didn’t answer, but turned and shot back under the bush. Italy just smiled after it, figuring that the small creature had made its home there. He wondered if it was the same rabbit he and Holy Rome painted all that time ago.

Italy felt a smile overtake his features at the memory. Holy Rome was a sweet boy, if not ambitious in his lofty dreams of grandeur. Despite his confident and rather stern personality, Holy Rome was extremely shy and more than a little awkward — especially when he tried to actually talk to Italy. Over the years, his aloofness had melted away and Italy was pleased to find that under that scowling face and intimidating demeanor lay a genuinely kind person.

With a small sigh of contentment, Italy brought a hand up to his cheek. If one looked close enough, they might have found a light dusting of red staining his cheeks. He brought his hand back down to grip his broom, mindlessly sweeping once more.

But the peaceful afternoon wasn’t to last. Italy started walking off, intent on finding a new area to ‘clean.’ He had started humming to himself again, but his cheerful little tune was interrupted when someone spoke up behind him:

“Hey, hold up Italy.”

Italy perked up at the voice, knowing who it was even before he had turned around. When he did turn, he noticed the deathly serious expression on Holy Rome’s face. Italy had never seen him look so stern, and it instantly set him on edge, “What can I do for you?”

When Holy Rome didn’t instantly respond, Italy felt just a twinge of anxiety in his chest. Maybe he wasn’t doing a good enough job with his cleaning. He recoiled slightly, tears already in his eyes when he realized that he might be in trouble. After all, Holy Rome was technically the master of his house, “I’m doing the best job I can with the cleaning and it will only get better!”

Wordlessy, Holy Rome approached him and extended a hand. The wind whipped around the two of them as their eyes met — Holy Rome’s filled with determination and Italy’s clouded over in confusion. After another moment of careful staring, Holy Rome said, “Italy, united we can be the Great Roman Empire once again. Let’s join and we can become the strongest country in the world together!”

Italy remained motionless, taking in the words. Holy Rome still had his hand extended out, an invitation. The mention of his late grandfather spurred in Italy a slew of unbidden memories — of Rome and all of his horrible scarring. It bit at Italy’s heart, causing him to shake his head in a desperate attempt to expel the memories from his head.

Holy Rome’s eyes widened in surprise, and then hurt. He rushed forward, unable to comprehend why he had been rejected, “Tell me why!” He began shaking Italy by the shoulders, sounding desperate, “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life in a place like this, do you? How could you possibly resist an offer to become the greatest country in the world with me?”

_To protect you!_

That’s what Italy was about to say, but then he thought about it. He was terrified of Holy Rome going down the path of his grandfather, his empire growing larger and larger until he became too big to manage. He liked Holy Rome — _a lot._ Somewhere in his brain it even registered that he may even love the serious boy before him, but he was still too young to understand the implications of those feelings.

But if Holy Rome left him, if he tried to become _the strongest country in the world_ all by himself, then he would surely fall. Italy had witnessed firsthand the horrible strain of managing a sprawling empire all on one’s own. The thought of Holy Rome trying to shoulder such burdens alone tore at his heart.

However, if Italy accepted his offer, they may still fall. It would be a painful, horrifying experience. It was safer to just stay put and hide behind the bigger nations — like Mr. Austria. But as Italy gazed into Holy Rome’s imploring blue eyes, he realized that he couldn’t let the blond destroy himself in his pursuit of glory.

At least not alone.

“Okay.” Italy whispered.

Holy Rome stopped shaking Italy’s shoulders, a carefully hopeful look in his eyes, “What’s that?”

Italy brought in a shuddering breath, “I said okay. I’ll join you.”

“You’ll… join…” Holy Rome’s eyes blew open comically wide as he registered that Italy was being serious. He surged forward, engulfing Italy in his black robes as he brought him in for a tight hug, “ _Grazie!_ You won’t regret it. You and I will become the greatest nation the world has ever seen!”

Italy couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm, hugging him back just as tight, “I know we will. I believe you, Holy Rome.”

Holy Rome pulled back, a broad smile on his face. He seemed to be far too excited to descend into the normal blushing mess he always became when he was too close to Italy. 

The breeze whipped around them once more, and Italy could feel the weather shift. He knew that his decision might have permanently altered history, but the smiling blond boy in front of him was worth it, “Now what?”

“Heh?” Holy Rome said, smile dimming.

Italy grabbed the font of his dress, twisting the fabric in his nervous grasp as he elaborated, “What do we do now?”

Holy Rome looked thoughtful before he answered decisively, “We need to get out of here.”

“We’re leaving already?” Italy asked, showing off his wide amber eyes in a rare display as he grappled with the new information.

_Leave? Now? But where would we go?_

“Italy, calm down. I need you to trust me.” Holy Rome said seriously, grabbing Italy’s small hand in his own.

Italy looked down at their hands, feeling a sense of calm overtake him. So long as Holy Rome was with him, he could do this, “I-I do trust you.”

Holy Rome nodded seriously, tugging Italy’s hand as he led them towards the house. Italy dropped his broom behind him, realizing that his life as a maid was about to be over.

The thought both excited and terrified him.

They marched towards the house, and towards some unknown destiny, hand in hand. Italy kept his gaze fixed on Holy Rome’s back. He walked with such unyielding confidence, such self-assuredness that Italy could feel his own head lift a little higher. No longer were his days as a lowly servant in his own house. No, he was about to learn what it took to be an independent nation in a world hellbent on crushing insurrection wherever — or whomever — it came from. 

_Well, almost independent._

Italy was still being led by Holy Rome, so he sped his steps up to instead walk side by side with him. Holy Rome simply blushed when Italy kept their hands joined. After all, he was more than just an ally.

Italy was now an equal to the Holy Roman Empire.

The world was at their fingertips, and it was time to show everyone just how formidable these two young nations could be. They may yet fall, and it would no doubt be unbearably painful. But if they fell, at least they would face the end together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo!
> 
> I am so excited for this fic! I've been sitting on this idea for a while - and honestly I'm shocked that I haven't found more fics like this. But I am here to right that wrong! This is going to be a coming of age type story with a focus on how these two develop together and as individuals. I even had to re-watch all the chibitalias to get all the quotes right and stuff lol. I plan on this being a fully fleshed-out story, with an actual plot and everything lmao. 
> 
> Next chapter: Escape from Italy's house - shenanigans ensue.
> 
> And for those who read my other story, I promise I'm still working on it. I just wanted to get this out while I had the motivation!
> 
> Let me know what you think! Is this a good idea, or are y'all like instantly bored by the premise?
> 
> Thank you, and good night/day!


	2. Chapter 2

Italy was practically buzzing with nervous energy, although he was desperately trying to conceal that fact. His hands shook imperceptibly, eyes gleaming brightly as his steps sprung with just a bit more vigor. They were _leaving,_ how could he not be excited?

However, despite the fact that his heart soared with child-like wonder at the prospect of adventure, his mind dripped with but one poisonous thought:

_What if this is a mistake?_

Italy still held more reservations about the whole _“greatest country in the world”_ thing than Holy Rome seemed to. He was naturally less assertive than the strict blond, and a hell of a lot less confident. Besides that, Italy still remembered the horrible misfortune that had befallen his grandfather, and he was wary of aiming too high in fears that the inevitable fall would hurt that much more. Even if they weren’t the _greatest,_ Italy would be quite content with just _great._

Shaking his head to dispel such thoughts, Italy brought himself back to the present.

Currently, he and Holy Rome were padding through the near-empty house, their footsteps echoing softly off the walls. The two were holding hands, each taking great care to move as silently as possible. While Holy Rome had the freedom to leave whenever he so desired, the same could not be said for Italy. So, in order to escape, it was of the utmost importance to move with careful grace as to not disturb the still hush that had descended upon them. 

It was a shame that Italy had never been particularly graceful — or quiet, for that matter.

“Holy Rome, can we say goodbye to Miss Hungary and Mr. Austria?” he whispered, though it bounced off the walls in a way that made them both cringe.

Holy Rome shook his head, “No, we can’t risk it.”

Italy pouted as they made their way even further into the house, turning down a long hallway. He looked up and took in the various paintings and expensive decor, realizing that he was going to miss this place and all the memories it held. While Italy may have been a suffering underling, it was in this house where he met Holy Rome. Not only that, but Miss Hungary had always been so kind to him. Mr. Austria even had his moments when he allowed Italy to sit back and enjoy the wonderous stories he weaved on his piano.

With a quiet sigh, he said, “But it seems awfully rude to just leave.” 

“Well I think it’s awfully rude to keep you trapped here.” Holy Rome mumbled childishly.

Italy giggled at Holy Rome’s scowling face, “I don’t mind being trapped as long as you’re here.”

Holy Rome’s face was set ablaze at the words, pitching slightly forward as he tripped over his own feet. Normally he would have recovered from the stumble with all the grace of a trained swordsman. But, unfortunately for the both of them, their hands were still joined. 

“Hey, wai-!”

Italy gasped as he was unintentionally pulled forward. They both flailed in an attempt to regain their balance, and they might have recovered if not for the fact that Italy was wearing his trademark green dress. 

“Ah!” Italy cried as he stepped on the front of his dress, sealing their fate. The both of them went tumbling down, crashing in an inelegant heap on the cold tile below.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to.” Italy said, trying to untangle himself with little luck.

Holy Rome groaned, trapped on his stomach under a flustered Italy, “It’s okay. Are you alright?”

Italy nodded as they both scrambled to get up, both feeling varying degrees of embarrassment at the predicament. All semblance of stealth was forgotten as they scrambled to disentangle the mess of jumbled limbs they had devolved into. 

“Hello?” trilled a voice from further down the hall.

They froze.

“What’s going on — oh dear, did I interrupt something?” Hungary emerged, peering at the two young nations with an amused smile.

While a ferocious blush once more engulfed Holy Rome’s face, Italy smiled warmly, “Oh, hi Miss Hungary!”

“Well, hello there Ita. Are you two alright?” she asked, holding a basket full of laundry to her hip as she desperately tried not to laugh.

Holy Rome finally managed to pull himself up, helping Italy to stand next to him before addressing Hungary stiffly, “Yes, we’re fine. We’ll be going now, excuse us.”

Hungary blocked their path as Holy Rome tried to drag them away, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“O-oh, well we were-” 

“I was actually just looking for you, Ita. Could you come help me put away some clothes? It’ll only take a second.” she gestured towards the basket propped up on her hip.

Italy looked to Holy Rome nervously before saying, “Actually, we were going to-”

“Perfect, thanks!” Hungary cut him off, already walking away.

For too long Italy had acted as a servant, and he was hard-pressed to fight his instinct to offer his help to the older nation. With a helpless look to Holy Rome, he turned to follow Hungary. 

“Italy, wait!” he said, beginning to follow the two down the hallway.

“I’ll meet you out here when I’m done!” Italy said, quickly moving out of earshot as he rushed to catch up with Hungary.

While Holy Rome didn’t look particularly pleased, he nonetheless halted his forward progress. He crossed his arms with a little huff, “If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming to find you.”

Italy nodded in response before turning a corner and into his own bedroom. Hungary was already inside, pulling out neatly folded piles of clothing and setting them carefully on the bed. When Italy entered, she wordlessly set a pile of laundry down for Italy to stow away.

They worked flawlessly together, Hungary carefully folding each article of clothing before handing it off to Italy to put away. This type of grace and efficiency between two people could only be found through countless hours of shared servitude. Over the years, the two had developed a profound closeness, a fact reflected in their effortless teamwork.

After several silent minutes of working, Hungary looked up with a smirk, “So what were you and Holy Rome doing sneaking around the house?”

“O-oh! We weren’t, uh, sneaking-”

“Mm-hm, sure you weren’t. I thought you were still outside, did you need something?” Hungary asked, handing Italy another handful of folded linens.

Italy sputtered, “U-uh well, we were just… hungry?”

Hungary gasped, “Oh you poor things, you must be starving! Have you had anything to eat yet?”

“N-no, we haven’t.” he shook his head, pleased that his excuse had been so readily bought.

“Well that just won’t do!” Hungary put her hands on her hips, “Come with me, dear, I’ll whip up something for you real quick. We’ll take care of the laundry later.”

Italy’s stomach actually growled at the mention of food as he set the pile of laundry in his hands down. Try as he might, he could not turn down the offer.

_Holy Rome will understand, I won’t be that long._

He tried to reason with himself in his head, seemingly forgetting about Holy Rome’s vow to look for him if he took too long. But before he left, a thought came to him:

“Um, Miss Hungary?” he asked nervously.

“Hmm?” she hummed in response.

Italy started twisting the fabric of his dress in his hands, not knowing how to explain himself. Their little tumble in the hallway, while harmless, was indicative of something much more significant:

There would be no room for slip-ups in the real world.

While Italy wasn’t a fighter, he knew that he couldn’t rule out the possibility of conflict in their journeys. Actually, it wasn’t so much a possibility as it was an inevitability. No nation could hope to achieve greatness without fighting tooth and nail for it — Grandpa Rome was proof of that. His dress not only sent the wrong message to both allies and enemies alike, but it was also terribly impractical. After all, a seemingly harmless stumble could prove to be fatal in the midst of battle.

So, with that thought in mind, Italy tried to ask as inconspicuously as possible, “Do you maybe have something that’s not a dress for me to wear?”

Hungary looked at him strangely, “Why? You look so adorable!”

Italy kept wringing his hands nervously, trying to think of a valid excuse that wouldn’t instantly expose him and Holy Rome, “It’s just that… everyone thinks I’m a girl like this.” 

“Does that bother you?” Hungary quirked one of her eyebrows up.

In all honesty, it really didn’t bug Italy all that much. Sure, most people mistook him for a girl, but what did it matter? But he needed an excuse, and this was the only one he could think of, “Yeah.”

Hungary pouted, “I have some clothes for you to wear. But are you sure? That dress does look so cute on you.”

Italy nodded his head, “Yes, I’m sure.”

With a disappointed huff, Hungary left the room and disappeared down the hallway. Italy was left to wait for her return, and she did after a surprisingly short amount of time. She carried a few items of clothing and presented them to the young boy, “Here. I knew it was only a matter of time, anway.”

“Thank you.” Italy said with a soft smile. He really was going to miss Hungary and her doting nature. She was always who he sought for comfort when he was scared or lonely, her motherly demeanor offering Italy a chance to escape the burden of nationhood. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen, just head over when you’re ready!” Hungary said as she breezed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Italy nodded after her, looking at the clothes she left behind. She brought him four changes of clothes, the pants all being some form of brown or beige color and the shirts each white with one green one. They were simple, but that was for the best.

He silently changed, choosing a beige pair of pants with the green shirt. Italy reached up to remove the bandana around his head, but stopped right before he pulled it off. Something was holding him back. For some reason, he didn’t want to part with it. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to erase all evidence of who he was before, or maybe because it was an article of clothing that he and Miss Hungary shared. Whatever the reason, he refused to leave it behind, so he chose to just leave the old piece of cloth where it was atop his head.

Looking himself over in the mirror, Italy decided that he was suitably dressed. He stuffed the remaining clothes into a bag that he kept under his bed. Along with the clothes, he grabbed a blanket, a small pillow, some paint and brushes, and a small dagger gifted to him from Grandpa Rome. 

After pulling a cloak firmly over his shoulders, Italy made his way to the door. With one last fleeting look over his shoulder, he pulled the door closed behind him.

Italy made his way down the hallway, trying to memorize every painting and decoration in case he never saw this place again. He could hear Miss Hungary singing cheerfully in the kitchen, and Italy felt his stomach growl as the smell of food invaded his senses. Paying no mind to the fact that the bag slung over his shoulder looked awfully suspicious, Italy emerged into the kitchen. 

“There you are Ita!” Hungary turned from her place at the stove, a smile fixed firmly on her face. She looked over Italy, nodding to herself, “Those clothes suit you, but what’s with the bag? Are you going somewhere?”

“Oh, well me and Holy Rome were going to…” Italy was wracking his brain for something, anything that wouldn’t come across as too suspicious. Suddenly, he remembered his little friend who currently held residence in the bushes, “We were going to look for this rabbit I found!”

“A rabbit?” Hungary looked like she was trying to hold back her laughter.

Italy nodded, “Yeah, we were going to find it together.”

Hungary did chuckle lightly at that, “Well I think that’s just wonderful!”

With a relieved smile, Italy hauled himself up on one of the chairs to sit at the kitchen table. A delectable aroma drifted from the stove, causing Italy to salivate in anticipation of a no doubt delicious meal. Hungary kept fiddling with things on the stove, singing softly in a language that was foreign to the young Italian. A warm blanket of peace settled over the two nations, their camaraderie needing no words.

But, as all nice things, it had to come to an end — and a dramatic end at that. Suddenly, a frantic Holy Rome barrelled into the kitchen. He was obviously looking for something, or maybe someone, his body visibly relaxing when he saw Italy sitting at the table, “Italy! What took you so long?”

Italy brought a hand up to scratch the back of his head, nodding towards the older nation in the room as he said, “Miss Hungary said she’d make me something to eat.”

Hungary turned around and waved, “Hey, Holy Rome. Why don’t you sit down next to Ita and I’ll make you something to eat too.”

Holy Rome looked between the two in the kitchen, a bag of his own slung over his shoulder. He looked conflicted, but ultimately decided to sit down with a little huff, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to eat before we left.”

Italy smiled widely at that, “Yay! Miss Hungary always makes the best food.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Holy Rome said, resigning himself to the fact that their departure would be delayed.

“That’s so sweet Ita! It’ll be ready in just a minute.” Hungary said, sneaking glances at the two young nations at the table.

Holy Rome sighed once more, impatiently tapping his finger on the table. He cast his gaze around the small kitchen, finally landing on Italy. His eyes went comically wide as he asked, “Italy, what are you wearing?”

“Hm?” Italy hummed, looking down at his clothes. He looked back up with a smile, “Oh, Miss Hungary got these clothes for me!”

“Yes, but why are you wearing them? Those clothes are for boys.” Holy Rome’s eyebrows were furrowed, clearly marking his bemusement.

At the stove, Hungary couldn’t hold back a sudden bark of laughter.

Italy was confused, “Yes?”

Whatever Holy Rome was going to say next was interrupted when two plates of food were set in front of them. Miss Hungary was smiling in delight, and no small amount of mischief, as she said, “Dig in, boys.”

Holy Rome’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head at the comment, “B-boys?!”

But Italy was too absorbed in the meal he was presented with. Miss Hungary had made pasta, a dish that was seldom prepared anymore. He shovelled the savory noodles into his mouth, practically inhaling it.

“Slow down, Ita!” Hungary laughed, taking her place at the table.

Around his food, Italy mumbled, “Sorry.”

“W-wait a minute.” Holy Rome said, still looking like his whole world had been turned upside down.

But, once again, he was ignored. Italy was still far too busy eating, and Hungary felt it was best for Italy to explain himself, “Eat up, Holy Rome. You’ve got a rabbit to find!”

“A… rabbit?” Holy Rome turned his questioning gaze to Italy, who simply nodded back sheepishly. “Right…”

Hungary didn’t miss the uncertainty, having to mask the troubled look in her eyes. She leaned back in her seat and decided to observe the two nations as they kept exchanging subtle glances. A quick look outside through the window revealed to Hungary a small army of men mobilizing, all wearing a rather familiar uniform… 

Holy Rome ate decidedly slower than Italy, yet they still managed to finish around the same time — a fact attributed to the fact that Italy went back for two more helpings. As soon as the last of the noodles had been devoured, Holy Rome pushed his plate away, “Aright, now let’s go.”

“What’s the rush? It’s not like you’re going anywhere, right?” Hungary asked with a knowing frown.

Italy shook his head nervously, “No, just the… the rabbit! Yeah.”

She didn’t look convinced, turning a questioning glare to Holy Rome, “Wow, that sure does look like your men packing up out there, Holy Rome. I didn’t think you were leaving for at least another week.”

Italy’s eyes snapped up at that. He turned his head to find Holy Rome fidgeting guiltily with his hands, refusing to meet anybody’s eyes.

_He was going to leave me?_

It stung, and Italy suddenly realized just how close he had been to losing Holy Rome forever.

Hungary shook her head as she stood, leaning against the counter as she gazed at the large group of men preparing for departure. After several tense minutes, Hungary seemed to have come to a decision. She bowed her head sadly, “Y’know, Mr. Austria is probably still in his office.”

Italy cocked his head curiously to the side, wondering what Hungary was getting at. He was now standing in the middle of the kitchen, Holy Rome beside him.

“He’ll probably be there for a little bit longer.” she said softly.

It suddenly dawned on Holy Rome what the underlying implication was. He grabbed Italy’s hand and started tugging him towards the door.

Italy resisted, tears in his eyes as Hungary continued to keep her own gaze fixed on the ground, “Miss Hungary?”

She didn’t answer, and Holy Rome was now trying to drag Italy away, “Now’s our chance, let’s go!”

“No!” he ripped his grip away, throwing his arms around Hungary’s waist.

Hungary kneeled down and hugged him, “Go, Ita. You can help me with laundry when you come back, okay?”

While he wasn’t actively crying, Italy was close, “I’m sorry. We’ll see each other again, I promise.”

“I know sweetie.” she pulled away with a warm smile. “Now get going, I’ll tell Mr. Austria you’re out looking for that rabbit.” she said with a wink.

Italy nodded solemnly, returning to Holy Rome’s side. The implications of their departure was finally hitting Italy squarely in the chest, and he grabbed on to Holy Rome’s arm for support.

As they turned to leave, Hungary left them with one final demand, “You take care of him, Holy Rome.”

Holy Rome simply grunted in response, finally able to drag the two away from the kitchen.

The moment they exited the house, Italy began crying in earnest. He hadn’t even gotten to see Austria, and he distantly wondered what the awkward nation’s reaction would be at their sudden departure.

“Hey, Italy.” 

Italy sniffled and looked up, finding lovely blue eyes laying in wait, “H-holy Rome?”

Without a word, Holy Rome brought him in for a swift hug. Italy gripped back tightly, trying to stifle his melancholy tears. It worked, after a time, and the two pulled back.

“I’m sorry, but we have to go now.” Holy Rome said, ushering them forward.

Italy nodded resolutely, swiping at his eyes with a shaky hand.

They walked away from their stable past and into some terrifying and unknown future. Eventually Italy was able to come down from his brief moment of despondency and began noticing Holy Rome sneaking glances at him.

“Ehm, do you need something?” Italy asked nervously.

Holy Rome shook his head to himself. He opened his mouth, only to shut it once more. After a great many more tries, he was finally able to force out, “When Hungary said _boys…_?”

Italy couldn’t help the boisterous laughter that broke free from his throat. He gasped for breath as he slowly explained to Holy Rome that he was, in fact, a boy.

It had taken quite a bit of convincing on Italy’s end in order to get Holy Rome to believe him, but in the end Italy was met by acceptance. 

“First and foremost, you’re _my_ Italy. Anything else is secondary.” Holy Rome had said, refusing to meet Italy’s eyes at the mortifying statement.

Needless to say, it had made Italy’s heart flutter with emotion, and no short amount of embarrassment.

In short time, Holy Rome ordered his men to depart, and Italy was left with the startling conclusion that this was really happening and nothing he could do could stop the gears he had just set in motion.

_Good._

He didn’t want to be defined by others anymore, he wanted to be worthy of the greatness Holy Rome so desperately sought. 

It was time to depart, the wind pushing them forwards as the world beckoned them to explore and to conquer. It was a new beginning, the young nations finding each other’s hands as they marched forth. Italy blew his eyes wide open.

He didn’t want to miss a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter like three freaking times omfg. Hopefully it was worth it!
> 
> Thanks for reading! I would like to point out that this is like the official beginning of the story - like we'll get into the plot after this!
> 
> If anyone was disappointed about not seeing Austria, fear not! He is more than likely going to be making an appearance or two down the road. Also, can I just say that Hungary is best girl? No? Okay...
> 
> Hope you liked it, let me know what ya'll think! I hope I'm getting everyone's personality down, but let me know if it's stupidly ooc or anything.
> 
> Okay, that's it. Peace!


	3. Chapter 3

Italy hummed happily to himself as he walked through the large encampment, swinging his arms wide with a broad smile. He waved good-naturedly at some of the men he passed, most of them waving back in acknowledgement. Some of them even offered Italy some sweets they had acquired throughout their travels, seeing him as no more than a young boy — not that Italy was going to complain, he liked the sweets and he supposed he was still considered young in the eyes of the world.

Truly, Italy had found his place here. He had seen more of the world in just a few short months than he thought was possible. Logically Italy had always known the vastness of the world was something to behold, however he never thought he would have experienced it firsthand. He still found himself gawking at the sweeping green meadows that shimmered like ocean waves in the wind, and he couldn’t keep from gaping at the labyrinthine cities that were just as breathtaking in their magnitude and complexity. There were times where he had intended to paint the stunning landscapes only to openly stare in awe, brush gripped loosely in his hand without a drop of paint on it.

They were currently camped out alongside a winding river, the murky blue depths churning lazily in the soft summer breeze. Italy loved to sit on the bank to watch the waves, and he thought to himself that he’d love to paint them. 

Compared to the gorgeous sights that surrounded them, the campsite that Italy called home was almost disappointing. Everything was some sort of brown hue, not a splash of color to break up the militaristic monotony that characterised every tent, every uniform — even the food looked dull! One time Italy tried to paint some of the tents just to _liven things up,_ but he had been caught and thoroughly chastised by one of the generals. 

Italy pouted at the memory, casting his eyes around the maze of tents and small clearings where soldiers would sit around the fire and regale each other with tales (true or not) of their _heroic_ endeavors in battle. So far they had only engaged in a few conflicts, with great success, although Holy Rome still seemed disappointed.

_“These small skirmishes are hardly the things of history.”_ Holy Rome had said, _“We need a real battle, a real victory!”_

Of course, Italy had tried to convince him that every victory was a _real_ victory, but Holy Rome had simply shrugged him off.

He continued walking through the camp, observing how the crowds of men thinned out as he made his way towards the center. There, in the middle of the sprawling campsite, was something of a headquarters. It was also where he and Holy Rome lived, along with a number of other dignitaries that made up the officers and strategists.

Speaking of Holy Rome, Italy thought he could spot him through a small throng of people — his childlike appearance and bright blond hair being the giveaways. With a wide smile, Italy made his way over, “Hey, Holy Rome!”

Holy Rome, whose attention had previously been captured by one of his higher-ranking generals, looked down with a little start, “Hmm? What is it?”

Italy had to stop the amused laughter that bubbled up in his chest. He still found it funny how, even after all the years they had known each other, Holy Rome still jumped when he called his name. Coming to a halt in front of the shy boy, Italy clasped his hands behind his back and asked, “Can we go sit by the river together? It’s so pretty out today and I wanted to paint the water!”

Holy Rome looked thoughtful, most likely trying to weigh the possibility of escaping the various officers who demanded his attention. Those officers and generals were of the few that knew of Italy and Holy Rome’s status as nations — the unfortunate downside being that they were subsequently treated as adults rather than the children they appeared to be. 

“Absolutely not.” scoffed an older man, his uniform indicating he was a distinguished officer, “The Holy Roman Empire has more important things to do than fooling around with likes of _you.”_ he said derisively. 

Italy backed down at the tone, “Oh, um… sorry then, I’ll go.”

He turned to leave, head hung low, when his hand was captured in a tight grasp, “Wait, Italy.”

With a guilty frown Italy turned, “I’m sorry, you’re busy. I’ll come find you later.” 

“No, I want to go. Maybe just not right now.” Holy Rome said, shooting a glare over his shoulder at the man who had so callously addressed the young Italian. The man just rolled his eyes, tapping his foot impatiently as he was forced to wait.

“Really?” Italy asked hopefully, still casting a nervous look at the self-important officer.

Holy Rome nodded, “Definitely, I’ll be done here in a little while.”

The old man scoffed once again, most likely having expected more time than Holy Rome was willing to give.

“Okay!” Italy said, thoroughly mollified. He surprised Holy Rome with a swift hug as he ran back the way he came. 

In the background he thought he could hear Holy Rome reprimanding the rude officer with some _colorful_ phrasing.

Italy giggled as he finally exited the innermost regions of the camp and back out to the fringes with the common soldiers. His smile relaxed into something more genuine as he weaved through the various tents, no real destination in mind. He did, however, notice that some of the men were packing their things.

At first Holy Rome didn’t like the fact that Italy would amble mindlessly around the camp on his own, insisting that it wasn’t safe. But Italy felt much safer amongst these men than the sneering generals and uptight strategists. He knew he was not well-liked by them, a fact that made itself known every time he pulled Holy Rome away from them. 

Italy felt his smile fade as he thought on it further, “But I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” he asked aloud to himself.

He couldn’t think of anything, but he supposed that they had never liked him. They weren’t interested in some _“stray we picked up on the side of the road.”_ They saw him as a distraction to Holy Rome and an embarrassment to the once Great Roman Empire — his late grandfather. 

With a sigh, Italy tried to forget about those thoughts. There wasn’t a thing he could do to gain the affections of the stuffy men however hard he tried. It wasn’t worth getting down on himself, and Italy soon found a much happier distraction: food.

His mouth began watering as the smell of stew bubbling softly over the fire invaded his senses. He wanted some of the delicious soup, and Italy instantly moved to put his tried and true method to work.

You see, Italy had developed an impressive skill, cultivated by months of careful practice and a healthy dose of trial and error. It required attention to detail and no small amount of improvisation. He was quick to jut his lip out in a slight pout as he opened his wide amber eyes with a pleading look when he spotted just who was cooking. 

Yes, Italy was indeed skilled in the art of getting whatever he wanted with just this one look alone.

He approached the cook who sat humming happily to himself, a man Italy was well-acquainted with. He had light auburn hair that normally rested atop his shoulders, however he currently had it tied up. He was young, freshly out of his twenties if Italy had to guess. The cook had a peaceful look on his face, the only thing that indicated his status as a soldier being a long scar running down over his nose from his eye to the corner of his mouth. 

Making sure that pitiful look was still plastered firmly in place, Italy padded over softly, “Mathys?”

The man, Mathys, looked up, smiling the instant he saw Italy standing meekly before him, “Hey, what do ya need, kid?”

Italy tugged shyly at his bandana, which he had tied around his neck instead of atop his head like normal, “Um, well you see, I’m just so hungry and I saw you making something. Your food always tasted so yummy, so I just thought…” 

Mathys quirked one of his eyebrows up curiously, “You just thought…?” 

Italy kicked the dirt as he feigned nervousness, “I just thought that maybe you could spare me some food or, um… nevermind, I don’t want to bother you.” This routine never failed him, his appearance as a young child only further painting him as something to be pitied.

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I have enough.” Mathys said thoughtfully as he mixed the soup with a ladle.

Italy let his lip quiver as he put his head down, “O-oh, I see. It’s just that, I haven’t eaten all day and I’m really hungry. You were always so nice, so I thought I could count on you.”

Mathys rolled his eyes with a playful smirk, “Well I guess I ain’t as nice as ya thought, ‘cause there’s just not enough.”

Italy sniffled in a way that he hoped was pathetic, “Not even for someone as small as me?” he gestured sadly at his slight frame.

“Don’t ya dare try to pull that one, you eat enough for someone twice your size!” Mathys said with another roll of his eyes.

“I guess so.” Italy’s face went blank with despair. “I hope my tummy doesn’t hurt too badly tonight, it makes it hard to sleep. Maybe somebody would be kind enough to spare me just a little, but who would want to help someone as small and helpless as me? I guess I’ll just-”

“Fine, ya moocher, take some!” Mathys laughed, cutting off Italy’s manipulative tactics by shoving a bowl of the freshly-prepared stew into his hands.

Italy smiled brightly, crocodile tears instantly forgotten, “Thank you!”

Mathys snorted, “I keep tellin’ ya that you don’t need to keep begging every time you want food. Just ask, you know I’ll feed ya!”

“Sorry.” Italy said with a nervous laugh. It was true that he pulled that little routine every time he wanted something to eat, but he had to stay in practice! Who knew when somebody new would step in to cook? 

He happily dug in, shoveling the stew in his mouth as many more men began lining up for their portion. Mathys dutifully served the other men, and Italy would have been content to just sit and observe had he not been interrupted by an amused chuckle, “So that’s how you do it.”

Italy whipped around, smiling warmly when he saw who it was “Holy Rome! Are you all done with your meeting?”

“Yes, I’m all finished now.” Holy Rome said nervously, choosing to leave out the fact that he had _maybe_ (most definitely) snuck away from the pompous officials the moment the opportunity presented itself. In an effort to forget about the lengthy lecture that was in store for him, Holy Rome shifted the focus to Italy’s exploitative tactics, “Do you have to beg every time you’re hungry?”

At the perplexed look on the blond boy’s face, Italy couldn’t help but giggle, “No, but Mathys always gives me more when he feels bad for me.”

“Do not.” Mathys chimed in, not looking up from his task. Italy pouted at the response.

Holy Rome still looked a little unsure, “I don’t understand why you eat… this.” he pointed to Italy’s half-eaten bowl of stew with a vaguely disgusted look.

“Well, have you ever tried it?” Italy asked with an innocent smile.

“Tried… it?” Holy Rome looked appalled at the thought.

“Yeah, it’s so good! Here, I’ll get some for you.” Italy said as he began schooling his face back into that pitiful look.

“Enough of that, just take it!” Mathys shouted when he noticed Italy approaching with that despondent face. He thrust a bowl into Italy’s hands, “Away with you already!”

Italy smiled, “Thanks, Mathys!” He practically skipped his way over to Holy Rome and shoved the bowl into his hands, “Here, try some.”

Holy Rome eyed it dubiously, shifting his gaze from Italy’s hopeful face back down to the freshly-served soup in his hands. With a sigh, he brought a spoonful up to his lips. He chewed nervously, though his eyes brightened the longer he savored the delectable food. Without another word, he went back for another spoonful.

“I knew you’d like it!” Italy chirped happily as he observed Holy Rome’s reaction. The blond just nodded in agreement, and soon they were both eating their respective meals side by side.

They made quick work of their food, each enjoying it far too much to properly savor it. They returned their bowls and spoons, Italy giving an appreciative wave to Mathys as they began walking away.

“You should eat out here more often, Mathys is a great cook.” Italy said with a content sigh. 

Holy Rome looked thoughtful, “The cooks at the center post are just fine.”

Italy scowled, “That food tastes horrible, I can hardly stand it.”

“I think it’s alright.” Holy Rome said with a shrug.

Italy pouted, not knowing how to explain his dislike for the food that they served the officers and other officials. He was a picky eater, and to him bland food was a grave sin. That was why he would constantly sneak away for just a taste of the flavorful combinations that people like Mathys could create. Italy looked up, intent on trying to explain his reasoning when he noticed something at the corner of Holy Rome’s mouth, “Hey, you got something on your face.”

“What? I do?” Holy Rome asked, bringing up a hand to swipe at his mouth.

Italy laughed when Holy Rome missed the spot entirely, “Hold on, I’ll get it!”

“No, i-it’s fine-” Holy Rome stuttered, face quickly going pink when Italy suddenly invaded his personal space.

Italy had removed the white cloth from around his neck, bringing it up to dab at the corner of Holy Rome’s mouth. The blond had frozen entirely, unable to do little more than stare as the young Italian stuck his tongue out in concentration. Several painful heartbeats later, Holy Rome was relieved (and just a tad disappointed) when Italy pulled away with a satisfied, “There, all better!”

Holy Rome shook his head, resisting the urge to run away out of embarrassment, “Th-thanks.”

Italy smiled obliviously as he shoved the dirty cloth in his pocket. He claimed Holy Rome’s hand in a tight hold as he began pulling him away, “Now, let’s go to the river!”

“S-sure.” Holy Rome stuttered, stumbling over his words and feet as he allowed himself to be dragged.

They made their way out of the camp and to the river’s edge, Italy squealing in delight as he noticed some ducks floating lazily atop the murky depths. He released Holy Rome’s hand as he crawled closer to the edge, waving happily at the cute creatures, “Hi there!”

“Italy, don’t stand so close to the edge!” Holy Rome fretted as he pulled the excitable boy away.

Italy laughed as he felt a tug on his arm, but humored the anxious boy as he was guided away. He flopped down childishly, dragging the blond down into the soft grass next to him. 

Italy turned his face upwards, soaking in the sun’s soft rays that broke through the shade of the trees lining the riverside. The wind caused the leaves to rustle softly, drowning out the ambient sounds of the distant campsite. The faint breeze was just enough to keep the heat at bay, the sunlight bouncing off the churning waves in an almost playful manner.

But Holy Rome wasn’t interested in the idyllic scenery that surrounded them, being far too distracted by the borderline euphoric look that graced Italy’s soft features. The small smile on his face widened imperceptibly as the wind delicately tousled his auburn hair, and the sun reflected off his pale skin in such a way that Holy Rome thought he might be dreaming.

“Beautiful.” Holy Rome whispered unintentionally.

Italy looked up, “Hmm? Did you say something?”

Holy Rome’s eyes widened when he realized what he had blurted out, the spell thoroughly broken as a ferocious blush overtook his face, “N-nothing! Weren’t you going to paint or something?”

Italy gasped, “That’s right!” he looked around for something, presumably his art supplies, before a pout marred his once-peaceful expression, “I forgot to bring stuff to paint with.”

“Why don’t we just run back to get it?” Holy Rome asked, looking over his shoulder to where the camp lay just a few meters away.

“Um, well…” Italy started wringing his hands. He didn’t know how to explain that he didn’t want to face those sneering generals again. They made him feel like he was lower than dirt, their overwhelming self-importance too apparent for even the notoriously oblivious Italy to miss, “I-I just don’t like how they look at me.”

“What do you mean?” Holy Rome asked in confusion.

Italy kept staring at his hands, “I don’t know why they don’t like me, I’m trying my hardest.”

It suddenly dawned on Holy Rome what Italy was talking about. He was well-aware of the disdain his advisers and military officials exhibited towards the young Italian. It bothered him greatly, and Holy Rome had been growing increasingly agitated at the lack of respect they had shown _his_ Italy. He would have to have another word with them.

“You shouldn’t have to make them like you.” Holy Rome said darkly, “They should respect you as my equal.”

“They think I should be like Grandpa Rome, but I don’t know how to do that.” Italy said as he hugged his knees.

Holy Rome scoffed, “Together we’ll be greater than him, they just can’t see that yet.”

Italy nodded, watching as the river continued to bubble pleasantly. The ducks were floating further downstream, and it wouldn’t be long before they disappeared entirely. While he wasn’t sure if he believed Holy Rome’s bold words quite yet, but he was willing to nod along and offer his silent support as they chased his ambitious goals, “Hey, Holy Rome?”

“Yes?” he asked, the previous scowl on his face melting away when he met Italy’s smiling face.

“I was just thinking that I’m really glad that I’m here with you.” Italy said, scooting closer to the flustered boy beside him.

“O-oh, well, me too.” Holy Rome stuttered out, casting his gaze around wildly as he felt Italy push himself even closer.

Italy couldn’t help but laugh at the way Holy Rome refused to meet his eyes. Feeling just a spark of mischief, Italy pulled away to put some distance between the two. Holy Rome looked like he wanted to protest but wasn’t given the chance as Italy suddenly launched himself at the other boy, sending them both sprawling to the ground.

“Italy, what are you doing?” Holy Rome asked frantically as Italy wrapped his arms tightly around his middle.

They were both lying in the grass, Holy Rome flat on his back as Italy tightened his hold on the frozen blond, “I’m tired.”

Holy Rome’s eyes went wide, trying to figure out how Italy’s actions and words connected, “Well, we could always go back if you were tired.”

Italy shook his head, “No, I want to stay out here.” 

“Oh, I guess that’s alright.” Holy Rome willed his body to relax when Italy curled up even tighter, head resting on his shoulder, “B-but we can’t be here long.”

“Why not?” Italy mumbled, sleep already beginning to overtake him.

Holy Rome continued to look straight up to the sky, not daring to move, “We’re leaving in the morning, we need to pack.”

“Oh, okay. Where are we going?” Italy asked, voice going softer at each word he spoke.

“North. We’re going to follow the river.” Holy Rome responded, finally able to work some of the tautness out of his body.

Italy hummed in contentment when he felt Holy Rome relax, sighing a final time as he breathed out, “I’m glad, the river is so pretty…” 

Holy Rome nodded, deciding not to tell Italy that they were on their way to a potential battle. New intelligence suggested that an army was closing in from the north, and their small force had been requested to aid in what would most likely result in some kind of military conflict.

Craning his neck down to try and measure Italy's level of consciousness (or lack thereof), Holy Rome noted that the Italian had drifted off completely. That… was a bit of an issue because now he was pinned to the ground without a viable way to escape.

_I could always move him,_ he thought distantly, but one look at the serene look plastered on the young nation’s face caused Holy Rome to banish the thought immediately. 

With a sigh that wasn’t nearly as displeased as he tried to make it sound, Holy Rome laid his head down to rest fully on the ground. He stared up at the bright sky, tinted orange as the sun prepared for its inevitable descent. A few wispy clouds rolled lazily by, and Holy Rome could feel his own eyes drift shut. He supposed a short nap couldn’t hurt, and any time he could steal away with Italy was time well spent.

Holy Rome settled back further in the grass, Italy’s sleeping form granting him the bravery he needed to gather the dozing nation in his arms. The gentle warmth of the day did not waver even as the sun continued to fall, and it wasn’t long before the bubbling river’s soft ambiance lulled both boys into a fitful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, sorry it's been a hot sec since I updated this, but I actually sat down and wrote out an (almost) complete outline of this story! So that's cool, and also probably means that I can get chapters out quicker.
> 
> Not a whole lot happens here, but I hope it was fun to read anyway. If not, feel free to attack me in the comments (or something nice, if you dare).
> 
> In any case, thanks for reading, I appreciate it!


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark out, though the cool blanket of night had yet to fall. Above, the sun still shone, but its lustrous radiance had gone missing — lost to the stifling fog of gunsmoke that twisted and writhed high above the raging battlefield below. The sweet, gurgling song of the river was devoured by the desperate screams and pleads of an army of men, destined not for the glory they sought, but for the cruel hand of death that conquered all.

Swords clanged shrilly off each other as the dull _bang_ of a rifle rang through the chaotic landscape. But throughout it all, Holy Rome looked on with a careful gaze — the picture of calm and collected. He was not in the midst of battle, but sitting behind the towering wall of heavy makeshift fortifications that his army had so swiftly constructed.

He cast a critical eye across the bridge his men were so dutifully defending. Just as intelligence had suggested, the enemy had mobilized and encroached on his territory. Holy Rome and his advisors had set up a stronghold along the river, and now they were being put to the test.

“If they cross the bridge, all is lost.” mumbled a man, hair long gone gray with age. His insignia marked him as a lieutenant-colonel.

Holy Rome shook his head, “Then they won’t cross the bridge.”

Another man (this one a general) scoffed with a flippant wave of his hand, “Of course they won’t, it’s absurd to even think that.”

He sounded more confident than the situation necessarily dictated, and Holy Rome felt a hint of trepidation. A little known fact about beings like him was that they could feel when their people were dying. The feeling wasn’t really _painful,_ but it was uncomfortable. It felt like a thousand little needles poking at his skin, although it was easily ignorable. Really it was like an itch that only rarely made itself known, something that lingered just on the edge of consciousness.

But right now Holy Rome could feel his skin crawl as a shudder suddenly worked its way down his spine. An explosion in the distance accompanied the feeling, and Holy Rome watched with wide eyes as the bridge his men had so valiantly defended began to buckle.

_They’re taking out the bridge?_

General Brandt, who stood to Holy Rome’s immediate left, chuckled glibly, “See? They won’t cross the bridge, because there will be no bridge to cross.”

Holy Rome whipped around to fix the man with a fierce glare, “This is your doing?”

“Naturally.” Brandt shrugged.

“And did you not think to bring this up with _me_ first?” Holy Rome growled.

The general looked wholly unapologetic, addressing the nation rather condescendingly, “Had you not been gallivanting around with that pathetic stray, then you might have been more informed of the measures and strategies chosen to ensure the day ended in victory.”

He could feel his face grow hot with anger as the man in front of him continued to shrug him off. The _pathetic stray_ the man had so callously referred to was obviously meant as a jab towards Italy. Holy Rome had demanded his officers show the little nation more respect, but they were stubbornly convinced of his uselessness. 

Holy Rome clenched his fists, choosing to address the man’s insubordination when the battle was over. Right now, he had more pressing matters at hand, “What about our men that will be trapped on the other side of the river?”

Brandt turned his nose up pompously, “That is of no concern to us.”

“Well, it is to me!” Holy Rome yelled, eyeing the bridge carefully. It had yet to fall, but the supports had definitely been weakened. He had less than thirty minutes, and that was pushing it. In a split second, he made a decision, “I’m going down there.”

The lieutenant-colonel to his right was the one who objected, “Absolutely not.”

Holy Rome glared, “And who put you in charge?” 

“It’s irresponsible.” growled Brandt. “Let God do our bidding in sorting out the weak.”

Holy Rome ground his teeth in rage, his skin feeling as if it were on fire as the desperate screams of _his_ people cried out in agony. He turned his back, calling over his shoulder as he addressed the impertinent general once more, “And when judgement day arrives, you will be the first to burn.”

With those scathing words, Holy Rome shot out of the fortress. He could hear the general sputtering indignantly behind him, and he smirked at the thought of the man being forced into a state of inelegance as a result of his words. Sometimes they forgot that he was a child only in appearance, and it was satisfying when he had the opportunity to remind them of that fact.

Holy Rome bolted through the stronghold, feeling across his waist to ensure his weapons were in place. On his left hip sat a rapier, the sharp sword having accompanied him through many battles. On his right was a pistol, although it was rare for him to use. The small gun was unreliable, but it was standard issue for all officers. 

The fortress sat just at the foot of the bridge, so it was in a matter of minutes that he had emerged to the tumultuous battlefield below. No enemy had yet to step foot over the bridge, and it was becoming increasingly clear that this battle would end in a decisive victory for his army. However, there would be a great many more casualties on his end if the bridge collapsed with his men on the other side. Victory was assured either way, but the cost of said victory hung in the balance.

Holy Rome grit his teeth and charged towards the bridge. He was small, so ducking and weaving through the restless throng of combatants didn’t pose much of an issue. But he wasn’t infallible, as he felt the cruel bite of steel slash down and across his arm.

Without a second thought, he drew his sword and stabbed the man who had dared to slash so carelessly at him. He fell with a cry of agony, his foreign words halted the moment his limp body hit the ground.

Holy Rome gripped his arm when he felt blood pooling under his cloak. There was a vicious gash that ran from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow, but still he carried on. Being immortal definitely had its perks, including making him extremely hard to kill. The fact did nothing to lessen the pain, but he did not fear death as an ordinary man might have.

“Dammit.” he grit under his breath, trying to stop the bleeding as he pushed his way across the bridge. It was beginning to wobble under his feet, and he was growing increasingly anxious of its structural integrity.

Finally, he emerged on the other side of the bridge. Standing there, shouting orders to his men, stood a middle-aged man with windswept hair that was blackened by soot of the canons. He was smiling, no doubt in anticipation of their impending victory. Holy Rome called out to him, “Major Scholz, pull back your men!”

The major turned and looked at Holy Rome curiously. This man was not at a rank high enough to be privy to his existence as a nation, so the appearance of a child shouting orders at him must have been a novel thing indeed, “And what authority do you have over me, child?”

Groaning in annoyance, Holy Rome marched over to the man and attempted to shout over the deafening sound of canons, “Orders from General Brandt, you are to retreat immediately!”

While what he said was a blatant lie, Holy Rome was pleased when Scholz suddenly looked conflicted, “Victory is nigh, to retreat now is cowardice.”

Holy Rome looked at him with imploring eyes, “The bridge is going to collapse, pull back now or your men will die.”

“There is great honor in death.” said the man, his chest puffed out proudly.

Holy Rome rolled his eyes, “There is honor in _life,_ which I’m trying to preserve right now if you would just _do as you’re told!”_

Scholz glared, but seemed to consider the words, “I fight for the Holy Roman Empire, not some general who thinks he knows better than us common men.”

The irony of the words was not lost on Holy Rome, but he pushed aside his amusement as he crossed his arms in annoyance, “And the Holy Roman Empire would very much appreciate you following orders.”

The major looked like he was going to retort, but the sudden shift of the bridge directly behind them gave him pause. He cast a nervous eye towards the battlefield where the enemy was hellbent on fighting to the bitter end. Scholz grumbled silently to himself before he motioned to his men to retreat.

Holy Rome breathed a sigh of relief as the major started screaming at his men to fall back. Reluctantly, they filed hastily across the bridge and towards safety. Archers trained their crossbows on the enemy, halting any attempt they made to follow across the bridge.

_Only three more battalions to go._

With a long-suffering sigh, Holy Rome gripped his arm tightly as he traversed the raging battlefield in a desperate attempt to salvage the rest of his army.

* * *

Italy sat idly in his tent, kicking his legs out restlessly in front of him from his spot on the bed. Outside he could hear the battle raging on, the booming sound of canons making him grip his dagger just a little tighter.

_I hope Holy Rome is okay._

The blond had insisted that Italy stay back — _yet again_ — to wait in the camp. But Holy Rome seemed to forget that Italy was no stranger to battle, even if he chose to witness from a distance. His grandfather had been a military powerhouse, and Italy had had unwavering faith in his ability to defeat any foe.

But then he died, leaving Italy with a lingering sense of anxiety for the young nation whose name bore a striking resemblance to his late grandfather’s. Even the dagger he now held so desperately in his grip was a gift from Rome, the last physical remnant of his grandfather that Italy had left.

With a sigh, Italy flopped on his back to fix the top of the tent with a light glare. He was sick of feeling useless, but he didn’t know how to remedy that. Holy Rome’s officers looked at him like dirt under their shoes, and the way Italy was meant to sit around and wait only fed their derision towards him.

“I can help, too.” Italy mumbled, even as he laid uselessly in bed.

The sudden sound of men rushing by his tent caused him to shoot up. Italy listened carefully, hearing desperate cries of agony that could only escape from the lips of the dying. It was with curiosity, and just a tad of trepidation, that Italy tucked his dagger away and slowly slid down from the bed as he creeped his way to the entrance of the tent. 

He recoiled when a group of men whizzed by him, a stretcher held between two of them with an injured soldier writhing in anguish. There was blood flowing freely from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, although the injury was obscured by familiar auburn hair…

“Mathys?” Italy squeaked in surprise.

Obviously, nobody heard the anxious squeak as the men hurriedly turned the corner and to what was presumably a makeshift hospital. 

Italy felt cold, his skin beginning to prick uncomfortably. He almost jumped at the feeling, wondering if somewhere far away his own people were suffering in his absence. But he couldn’t linger on that now, because suddenly his feet were carrying towards the place he had just witnessed the friendly cook disappear.

He tore through the camp, following the horrible sound of screaming that was sure to lead him to his intended destination. Italy emerged to a large clearing, lines of men laid out on stretchers as doctors flitted from patient to patient in a desperate attempt to save as many lives as possible.

Italy brought his hands up to cover his ears, the tormented screams and crying too much for him to bear. He was frozen, tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as his mind flashed with unbidden memories of his grandfather and the gruesome injuries he had bore over his long and violent history.

His skin was buzzing uncomfortably, and once again Italy had to wonder what that meant. But he couldn’t think on it any longer because he was suddenly shoved to the side:

“Out of the way, kid!” called a harsh voice.

Italy gasped, finally snapping out of the stupor he had been stuck in. He squeaked out a quick apology, shaking his head as he ran into the clearing. Italy looked around wildly, his short stature ensuring that he was well and truly lost in the chaos. He was pushed and pulled out of the way, and it wasn’t long before he was completely disoriented.

Sounds crashed off of each other, the distant sound of battle echoing dully in the background. It was a horrible cacophony, and Italy almost clapped his hands over his ears once more when someone pulled him to the side, “Make yourself useful and help me!”

Italy looked up and was met by the hulking figure of a middle-aged man, his uniform marking him as a medic. He had dark features, although there were streaks of gray that ran haphazardly through his clipped hair. His sleeves were rolled up, blood splattered down his front and up his arms. He was chewing tobacco, his face fixed in a perpetual glare.

_He’s scary…_

“Oi, did you hear me?” the man growled, motioning for the Italian to come closer.

Italy obliged, if only for the shock he felt at being addressed so suddenly. There was a crate of supplies on the ground next to the man, and Italy hopped on it to lean over the stretcher next to the burly doctor.

The soldier on the stretcher was unconscious, though the brutal gash across his chest was bleeding profusely. The doctor was holding a cloth, suddenly shoving it in Italy’s hands, “Start cleaning.”

Italy looked down at the rag in shock, “I-I’m sorry?”

The doctor let loose a long-suffering sigh, “The wound, it needs to be cleaned before I can properly dress it.”

“Yes, sir.” Italy breathed, hands shaking imperceptibly as he lightly dabbed at the gash.

“Diel, a little help over here!” called yet another man, and the doctor — Diel — turned on his heel to hurry towards the frantic voice.

Italy was left to clean the wound unsupervised, submerging the rag in a bucket of water to his side as he tried not to start crying. He watched as the once pristine water darkened with blood, the horrible red already staining his pale and shaking hands.

The wound just wouldn’t stop bleeding, but Italy persisted. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but suddenly Diel was back at his side, “That’s enough, now go fetch me some fresh water.”

The soiled bucket of water was pushed roughly into Italy’s hands as he was ushered away. The young nation almost toppled over at the sudden weight that was forced upon him, but he was able to maintain his balance. He slowly backed away from the stretcher, careful not to drop the bucket as he stepped down from the crate of supplies.

With one more dismissive gesture, Diel turned his attention back to the injured man on the stretcher. Italy was left to rush his way through the camp, water sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the bucket as he tried not to drop it.

 _It’s so heavy,_ Italy mentally lamented.

His desperate scramble to the river felt like it took an eternity, but in reality it was probably under ten minutes. Italy immediately dumped the water, leaning down to capture the refreshing liquid as it flowed quickly downstream.

The bucket was almost filled when the deafening _boom_ of an explosion shook the ground under his feet. Italy almost toppled over into the river, but was able to catch himself at the last second. His head whipped to the side, noticing with some dread that the bridge in the distance was starting to sway dangerously.

_Holy Rome…_

Italy sniffled, his fear for the blond’s safety further exacerbated by the traces of battle that were evident in the river below him. He pulled the now-filled bucket of water up to the bank as he rinsed off his hands. He gazed at the murky depths, finding tattered clothing and even a few abandoned rifles floating lazily downstream.

Italy felt a pang in his heart as a chunk of wood rushed by, forcing him to recoil violently away. The river that had once sparkled such an innocent hue of opalescent blue, was now defiled by the hate and strife of thousands of men cut down to the thundering beat of the war drums. The water no longer looked so pure, that perfect day on the bank with Holy Rome feeling like an impossible dream.

Another explosion is what snapped Italy back to reality. After pushing his hair out of his face, the young nation retrieved his bandana from his pocket and tied it around his head. He snatched the bucket and began the arduous trek back to the camp where he hoped he wasn’t too late.

* * *

Italy was ready to collapse in exhaustion, his body swaying dangerously as he was finally given a reprieve. The battle was over, the result being an overwhelming victory for the Holy Roman Empire.

_At what cost?_

The young nation looked around in a daze at the dead and dying, peering down at his blood-soaked apron. He was given that particular garment of clothing by Diel when he noticed the boy scrubbing desperately at his clothing. The horrid screams of agony had lessened, although Italy was long desensitized to them. He had run around for hours, helping in any way that he could. Diel kept him close by, giving short orders and instructions in a way that was almost kindly.

The gruff doctor was currently checking over some of his patients, apparently satisfied with their condition because he walked his way over to Italy to address the boy, “Ya done good, kid.”

Italy nodded mutely, hands twisting awkwardly in the fabric of his apron. He didn’t know what to feel, the experience having been one of the most overwhelming things he had ever faced. He could feel tears burn at the back of his eyes, and Italy was suddenly screwing them shut in a desperate attempt to block out the horrible, violent world around him.

Diel sighed, bringing a heavy hand to rest on the Italian’s head, “Keep your eyes open, boy. This is what hate looks like.”

Italy shook his head, not wanting to see the life drain out of any more faces. He still didn’t know what fate had befallen Mathys, and he was too afraid to go looking for the friendly man in fear of what he’d find. 

Once again, Diel was sighing, “Death comes for us all, some sooner than others. But that’s why there’s people like us.”

With a pang, Italy realized the implications of his own immortality. He had never dealt with humans directly before, instead spending most of his time in the care of other nations — immortals just like him. He would outlive this man, and Mathys, and every other person he had taken the effort to get to know. 

_Will I be all alone?_

Italy’s chest hurt at the thought, but he pushed down such dismal musings and finally turned to face Diel, “People like us?”

Diel smirked, “We make sure Death has a hell of a time taking any more souls, the greedy bastard.”

That was a rather curious way to describe his profession, but Italy supposed that the man had a point. It had felt good when they brought somebody back from the brink of death, the way that his hands had given life instead of taking it. Italy supposed he could get used to the feeling, and for the first time he felt a soft smile grace his features.

It was a short time later when Italy was dismissed. He walked his way slowly back towards his tent, body feeling so heavy he feared he wouldn’t make it to his bed before toppling over. After all, the grass did look soft, and the sun felt so warm on his skin, and surely sleeping outside wasn’t so bad… 

But that train of thought was blasted to the wayside as a small body suddenly crashed into him. Italy went careening to the ground, the air forced from his lungs as his back hit the cold dirt below. The soft yellow sky was suddenly all he could see as Italy patted confusedly at the person on top of him.

The person was suddenly hugging him, a familiar voice gasping out, “Italy, I was so worried.”

It suddenly dawned on him just who had so recklessly crashed into him, and Italy was soon hugging back just as tight, “Holy Rome!”

Holy Rome pulled back, their eyes meeting as men shuffled awkwardly by them, “Why weren’t you in your tent? I couldn’t find you anywhere!”

Italy looked away, feeling just a tinge of shame, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Holy Rome said firmly, finally untangling their bodies as he pulled Italy up to sit next to him on the ground, “As long as you’re safe…” his eyes went comically wide when he was finally able to properly scrutinize the Italian, noticing the blood stains that ran down his front, “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Oh, well-”

“I knew something was wrong when I couldn’t find you.” Holy Rome groaned in distress, standing to try and pull Italy towards the makeshift hospital, “C’mon, I’ll call you a medic!”

“No, wait-” Italy said, resisting Holy Rome’s desperate attempts to pull him away. But suddenly, it was Holy Rome who was gasping in pain, hunching over as he gripped at the torn clothing on his arm. 

It was Italy’s turn to feel concern when he noticed for the first time that the blond was injured, “You’re hurt.”

“I-I’ll be fine.” Holy Rome grit out.

Italy shook his head, forcing the blond to sit as he fussed over him, “You should have told me. What happened to your arm?”

Holy Rome tried to hide the injury, going so far as turning away when Italy tried to force his sleeve up, “Nothing you need to worry about, you’re the one who’s bleeding.”

Italy shook his head, “It’s not my blood, now let me see.”

The blond gaped, truly looking over the Italian and his blood-soaked clothing. It finally seemed to click that the young nation was indeed uninjured, because a look of profound relief overtook the previous worry, “But why are you covered in blood?”

Italy was finally able to pull Holy Rome’s sleeve up, staring in horror at the brutal gash on his arm. He immediately pulled the bandana from his head, tying it tightly around the wound with nimble hands, “I was helping some of the doctors. Now, follow me.”

Holy Rome let himself be ushered into Italy’s tent, although it probably would have been wiser to take him to the real medical staff to look over the wound. However, Italy had dressed countless injuries over the course of the day, so he had at least some semblance of training however brief it had been.

_I can be useful too._

Italy pushed Holy Rome onto his own bed, shedding his blood-soaked apron before disappearing from the tent. He was only gone for a few fleeting minutes in order to retrieve a bucket of water — luckily finding a bucket already full without having to trek down to the river.

He returned in a huff, just a tad miffed that the stubborn blond had concealed his injury, “You could have said something to me.”

Holy Rome looked away sheepishly, keeping his eyes averted as Italy gently removed the bandana to instead start cleaning the gash, “You don’t need to worry about me, it takes more than this to kill people like us.”

Italy's hands came to a standstill, fixing the nation with a fierce glare, “Well I am worried about you. There are some things worse than dying, you know.”

_Like outliving everybody you love._

The blond’s eyes went wide at Italy’s sudden boldness, “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing.” Italy mumbled, wrapping the wound in some gauze he still had stashed in his pocket.

“Italy,” Holy Rome said softly, cupping the boy’s face with his hands when his arm was finally released. “What’s wrong?”

Italy felt his bottom lip quiver as the events of the day finally crashed down around him. A few tears leaked from his eyes as every face from each soldier that had died in his care raced through his mind. His skin crawled as he saw each face cycle mercilessly through his head, too quickly for him to properly identify before the image was gone. It was overwhelming, but the macabre picture show in his mind came to a grinding halt when it landed on the last face he wanted to see.

“Holy Rome?” he asked brokenly, seeing the nation in his mind with startling clarity. The blond’s body was bloodied and battered, mangled beyond recognition at the feet of the larger and more powerful nations.

_No, you can’t die._

Italy was crying in earnest now, shaking his head in a desperate attempt to expel the image, “No, please don’t leave me.”

“Italy? Hey, what’s wrong?” Holy Rome asked in alarm. He took Italy by the shoulders and started lightly shaking him, “I’m not going anywhere, please stop crying.”

With a gasp, Italy finally snapped out of the horrible nightmare. He looked into the deep blue pools of Holy Rome’s eyes, feeling like he may pass out in relief when they were no longer dulled by the greedy hand of death. He dove into the blond’s chest, hugging him tightly with every intent of holding on forever.

Holy Rome gasped softly in pain, but ignored his discomfort in favor of holding the distraught nation in a grip just as tight, “Did something happen?”

Italy shook his head, “I just don’t want Holy Rome to leave me.”

The blond tried to pull away, although he was met with fierce resistance. Again, he tried to peel the Italian off of him, but it was quickly proving futile as the grip only tightened. With a fond sigh, he gave into the fact that he wasn’t getting away, flopping down onto the bed with Italy still hugging him close, “Why would you say something so silly? You know I won’t leave you.”

“Grandpa Rome left me.” he whispered. “And you were going to leave me too.” his voice was thick with betrayal.

Holy Rome audibly gulped, patting Italy awkwardly on the head as he said, “But I didn’t. I won’t ever leave you, I promise.”

Italy peered up with watery eyes, “Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” Holy Rome said with all the sincerity he could muster. “I’ll be by your side forever.”

The Italian could feel his lips quirk upward, “Forever and ever?”

“Until you’re sick of me.” Holy Rome asserted. “And even then I won’t leave.”

Italy giggled, “I could never be sick of you.”

Holy Rome’s face heated up as his own words finally registered with him. But he managed to wrestle away his embarrassment and instead rest his chin on top of Italy’s head, “You don’t know that.”

“I do, though!” Italy said indignantly. “But just in case, we should find out for ourselves.”

Holy Rome sputtered at the words, face going an interesting shade of scarlet when Italy only nestled his head more securely against his chest. The blond could do little more than lay stiffly next to him, still trapped in that fierce hold.

It was the sound of Italy’s stomach that caused them to finally pull away. Italy released his hold as he sat up rather sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I’m just-”

“Hungry, yes I can tell.” Holy Rome said seriously, although he was rather amused by the predictability of it all.

Italy looked down with a soft smile, “Would you like to get something to eat with me?”

Holy Rome scoffed, as if he’d ever refuse the young nation when he sounded so unsure, “Of course, whatever you want.”

 _“Whatever_ I want?” Italy asked with a mischievous smile.

“Well,” Holy Rome said nervously, “whatever is on the menu today. We were able to retreat before the bridge collapsed, so there’s probably a feast being planned in celebration.”

That caused Italy to shoot up in excitement, the prospect of food never failing to heal his dour mood, “What are we doing in here, then? Let’s go!”

Italy grabbed Holy Rome’s (uninjured) arm and dragged him out of the tent. Indeed the sounds of celebration were already permeating the large encampment, and Italy could feel excitement fill his chest. The camp was so lively, and he was reminded of the simpler things in life — like good food and good company. 

The two weaved through the cluster of tents, Italy laughing when he witnessed a group of men already drunkenly singing and dancing. He pulled the blond towards a small clearing, the smell of something delicious cooking wafting from a pot sitting over a smoldering fire.

His stomach growled once more, and suddenly Italy was bounding towards the man at the fire (pout already in place) when he was frozen in his tracks by a shock of familiar auburn hair…

“Mathys?” Italy asked in shock.

The cook looked up with a friendly smile, shoulder heavily wrapped where Italy knew a bullet wound lay under. Mathys looked exhausted, but he was still dutifully cooking away over the warm fire.

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Italy dropped Holy Rome’s hand and surged forward to hug the man around the waist. Mathys let out a soft _oof_ of pain, but patted the boy’s head as he grit out, “Just ‘cuz you’re huggin’ me doesn’t mean ya get more food.”

Italy shook his head, as he pulled away. He wiped away some tears with the back of his hand, feeling rather than seeing when Holy Rome came to stand next to him. Italy cleared his throat, unable to stop the smile that broke forth when he realized he was surrounded by people who were very much _alive_ and not going anywhere — at least, not for a while.

With another bewildered shake of his head, Italy pushed a teasing pout on his face and looked mischievously up at Mathys, “But I’m just _so_ hungry”

It wasn’t five minutes later when Italy sat happily next to Holy Rome, devouring the extra helping of stew that Mathys (totally did not) serve him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, so it's been a while, yeah?
> 
> Ooooops, didn't mean to go missing for so long, but what are ya gonna do?
> 
> So this chapter is very loosely based on the Battle of Dessau bridge - an important battle vs Danish forces on the River Elbe in (modern-day) Germany that resulted in a victory for the HRE. Again, it's veerryy loosely based, so don't look for super accurate history facts in this fic. But, I will say the battle was fought during the thirty years war in the mid-1600s, so that gives you a frame of reference for where in history we are.
> 
> Okie, enough history garbage from me. I hope you liked this, I know it's a bit heavier than the other chapters, but I think it's important to properly characterize what this time period was like - violent.
> 
> Let me know what you think, I appreciate each and every one of you <3


	5. Chapter 5

Holy Rome stood anxiously in his tent, meticulously fretting over each article of clothing he wore. He smoothed his hands over the front of his shirt, straightened the cap on his head for perhaps the millionth time, and brushed imaginary dirt from his shoulder with a huff. The short sword he wore at his side had just been cleaned, a necessity after the vicious battle his army had just emerged from.

A battle that had ended in a stalemate.

Holy Rome scowled to himself, irritated that _France_ of all nations had come so close to defeating him. With a growl, he straightened his hat once again, twisting it to the side in a manner that was unnecessarily violent. He sighed, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm down, focusing on the uncharacteristic silence that surrounded him-

“Hey, Holy Rome!” Italy shouted, bursting excitedly into the tent.

Holy Rome whipped around, the tautness that he had only so recently worked out of his shoulders returning with a vengeance. He stood stiffly, noting the way Italy had frozen as well, “Italy, I-”

_“Così bello!”_ Italy squealed in delight, rushing forward to grip the blond’s hands as he began to bounce where he stood in excitement, “Holy Rome looks so formal!”

A dusting of deep scarlet suddenly painted Holy Rome’s face, his brain short-circuiting for just the briefest moment at the enthusiastic compliment. Even if he was embarrassed by the remark, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention, so he shook himself out of his stupor and explained, “I have a negotiation to attend, formality is necessary.”

“I wish you’d dress like this more often, how handsome you are!” Italy cooed, reaching up to straighten the hat that rested atop the blond’s head.

Coughing to mask his self-consciousness, Holy Rome mumbled softly, “Well, I suppose I could start dressing a little nicer, seeing how you like it so much…”

Italy’s smile could rival the brilliance of the sun in its radiance and warmth, _“Sì,_ I think it suits you.”

Nodding seriously, Holy Rome gave himself a once over with a newfound sense of confidence. He looked over to Italy, noticing how the young nation was giving him a curious look, “Do you need something?”

Italy jumped, looking thoroughly caught in his blatant staring, “Oh, well I was just thinking that black really is such a nice color on you — it brings out your eyes, you know.”

“My eyes?” Holy Rome breathed, absentmindedly bringing a hand up to his face.

Italy nodded vehemently, “Such lovely eyes, so blue!”

“Oh, uh thanks-”

“But black is also such a harsh color, so I was wondering, um…” Italy trailed off nervously, reaching into his pocket before pulling something out in a loose grip, “You see, I found this growing at the edge of the battlefield, and it reminded me so much of those lovely eyes of yours and I just thought…”

Italy shuffled closer, a lone flower held delicately in his grasp. It was a startling shade of blue, the cerulean petals crumpled along the edges where it had been shoved haphazardly into the young nation’s pocket. 

Holy Rome watched with wide eyes as the Italian stepped even closer, jumping when Italy tucked the flower securely into the pocket that was stitched into his shirt. The blond brought his hand up to lightly brush over the soft petals, wondering how such a frail little thing could withstand the brutal world outside.

Italy stepped back with a shy smile, twisting his hands nervously in front of himself. He ran his eyes over the new addition to Holy Rome’s attire, nodding in apparent approval before saying, “I know it’s not really part of your uniform, but I think it would make me really happy to see some color on you.” 

Nodding without consciously meaning to (for some reason, Italy always had that stupefying effect on him) Holy Rome said sincerely, “As long as you’re happy, I’ll do anything.”

“Yay!” That blinding smile was back in an instant, and Italy was suddenly surging forward to wrap the stunned blond in a warm hug, “I want to make Holy Rome happy too!”

Holy Rome patted the excitable nation awkwardly on the back, mumbling out timidly, “Oh, well, you don’t have to worry about that then.”

“Hmm?” Italy hummed pulling back in confusion. “But why not?”

_Because you’ve already made me happy._ Was the phrase that stuck on Holy Rome’s tongue, but he just couldn’t seem to get the words out in the open. Instead he opted to shrug with a mumbled, “It doesn’t matter.”

Italy looked on curiously, trying to figure out the blond’s sudden bashfulness. Apparently deciding it wasn’t worth the time to seriously contemplate (after all, Holy Rome had always been shy), Italy shrugged it away, “So, who is your meeting with?”

Suddenly remembering his earlier irritation, Holy Rome crossed his arms with a decidedly childish huff, “France.”

“Big brother France?” Italy asked excitedly. At the subsequent nod, he began bouncing once again with childlike enthusiasm, “I haven’t seen him in such a long time!”

Holy Rome rolled his eyes, although his irritation wasn’t directed at the excitable nation before him, “And with any luck, we won’t have to see him for a _very_ long time after this.”

Italy’s smile melted away, his gaze turning confused, “What’s wrong? Do you not like big brother France?”

“Not in the slightest.” Holy Rome grumbled.

“Oh, well...” Italy breathed, unsure how to proceed. He twisted his hands awkwardly in front of him, taking in the blond’s irritated scowl with a sense of anxiety, “Uh, I hope that your meeting goes well, even if you don’t like him very much.”

Holy Rome relaxed at the nervous words, recognizing that he was overreacting. Even if he didn’t like France, it didn’t mean he had the right to take his annoyance out on Italy. With a sigh, he approached the young nation slowly, refusing to meet the other’s eyes as he linked their hands, “Thank you, I will do my best to get along with him.”

Italy’s face instantly brightened, “Yay! Then we can all get along together and be happy!”

“Yeah…” Holy Rome trailed off.

_Like I’ll ever get along with that creep._

In the next few minutes, Holy Rome finished preparing for the dreaded negotiation. He didn’t have high hopes for the meeting, although he realized that it wouldn’t matter in the end. His generals would do as they see fit — most of them involved in a separate negotiation. His main function was to try and smooth things over on a diplomatic level, not a military one. The hope was (as far-fetched as it was) to first negotiate peace and then get on good enough terms to possibly consider each other allies. Again, it was an idealistic hope.

Grumbling wordlessly to himself, Holy Rome waved a short goodbye to Italy and trudged his way to his meeting. He brought a hand up to run a featherlight touch over the flower that sat in his front pocket, feeling some of his nerves ease at the action. 

The walk over to the tent set aside for this _most prestigious meeting between two great nations_ (at least, that’s what his pompous generals had said) was far too short for Holy Rome’s liking. He schooled his face into something carefully neutral and pushed his way inside.

The room was empty save what appeared to be a young man sitting at a dark wooden table. They had been granted privacy for this meeting, something that Holy Rome both appreciated and dreaded. The man, or more accurately, the nation who sat at the table wore a wide smirk, his long golden hair falling delicately in his eyes before he had a chance to brush it away. He looked flippant, like they hadn’t just engaged in a fierce battle mere hours before — he wasn’t even carrying a weapon.

Holy Rome ground his teeth, “France.”

“Oh, Holy Rome!” he exclaimed in apparent surprise, smirking with an evil gleam in his eyes. “My apologies, I didn’t notice you come in.”

It was a subtle insult — the implication that he wasn’t impressive enough as a nation to notice or a jab at his short stature, he couldn’t be sure. Either way, it pissed Holy Rome right off, “I would like to say how little your opinion matters to me, but I don’t insult women.”

France smiled a little wider, threading his fingers through his own silky locks with an obnoxious wink, “How very polite of you, I do love when children are taught to respect their superiors.”

Face quickly going red, Holy Rome stomped (childishly) up to his seat and sat with a glare. He was now facing France directly, that smirk on his face not wavering for an instant. Holy Rome’s scowl deepened, “Do you even plan on being productive, or should I just save my breath and leave now?”

France shrugged, clearly amused by the whole ordeal, “If it’s another fight you want, I won’t complain.”

“Eager to fall flat on your face again, aren’t you?” Holy Rome growled.

The first sign of genuine annoyance flashed briefly over France’s face as he crossed his arms with a light glare, “I know you have a difficult time remembering with that tiny brain of yours, but I believe the day ended in a draw.”

Holy Rome rolled his eyes, “So you admit to surrendering to a _child_ then?”

“I didn’t surrender!” France yelled before he was able to reign himself in. He forced himself to relax, although it was obvious he was still annoyed.

Holy Rome smirked, pleased that he’d identified a particularly touchy topic. He mentally filed the information away for later, but didn’t prod further to instead get this negotiation over as quickly as possible, “If you’re done throwing a fit, I would like to get this over with.”

France flipped his hair to the side with a sigh, resting his chin in the palm of his hand with a short nod, “Agreed.”

Relieved that they were finally on track, Holy Rome launched into the discussion, “I want you off my territory immediately, and I want you to stay off.”

Suddenly looking mischievous once more, France waved a hand loosely in the air, “My, my, what harsh demands.”

“They’re perfectly reasonable, and you know it.” Holy Rome growled. “Neither of us wants a war, and if you want trade to continue then you’ll _step off.”_

“Hmm.” France hummed, tapping his chin contemplatively. He looked back up with a wicked smile, “I suppose I could always try my luck further south.” 

Holy Rome began to nod before he realized what that entailed, what was being implied. His face grew hot once again, and he had to ball his fists up to not lash out, “Like I said, stay off my territory.”

“Oh, come on!” France chuckled brightly in amusement, “I haven’t seen little Ita in such a long time, and last I checked she doesn’t belong to you anyway.”

Holy Rome only glared fiercer when he thought he heard the frenchman mumble something about Italy being _such a cute little territory, _but he was able to maintain at least some level of diplomacy, “That is completely off the table. Just stay away from me and Italy and with any luck we’ll never speak with each other again.”__

__France rolled his eyes, “Wishful thinking.”_ _

__And maybe it was, but Holy Rome’s patience was _really_ being tested right then. To calm himself, he absently ran a hand to run over the silky petals of the flower that sat in his pocket. _ _

__Unfortunately, France caught the action, “What a lovely flower you have there.”_ _

__Holy Rome snapped his eyes up, snatching his hand back to his side, “So what?”_ _

__France leaned forward to get a closer look, nodding to himself with a teasing smirk, “A cornflower — how cliché. Tell me, who do you wear this flower so openly for?”_ _

__“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Holy Rome mumbled, face a light dusting of red._ _

__“I guess you’ll just have to find out.” France shrugged, although that knowing smirk did not fall away._ _

__Oh how Holy Rome would love to carve that twisted smile off with the sword that he’d set against the leg of the table. Unfortunately for him (and very fortunately for France) he had promised Italy to at least _try_ and be cordial, so he pushed his annoyance to the back of his mind, “Look, our job here is to lessen tensions, not add to them.”_ _

__“Then you should really get ahold of yourself, don’t you think?” France teased, looking far too amused for Holy Rome’s liking._ _

__“I guess so.” Holy Rome grit, glaring fiercely ahead._ _

__Negotiations proceeded as normally as they possibly could, the resulting agreement was France ceased in his brash expansion east and Holy Rome would keep his trade routes open. Of course, most of this would have been negotiated separately by the actual diplomats, but coming to this agreement on their own ensured that they would actually keep to the promise._ _

__Things wrapped up a short time later, France standing to exit the room, “As always, it’s been a pleasure working with you.”_ _

__“Yeah, real pleasure.” Holy Rome muttered under his breath._ _

__But France either didn’t hear him, or didn’t care, “Be sure to send Ita my best, I do miss her terribly.”_ _

__Holy Rome rolled his eyes as he also made to exit the tent, “I’ll be sure to tell _him.”__ _

__France raised an eyebrow up at that, but didn’t comment. Instead he sauntered away with a cheeky wave goodbye._ _

__“Good riddance.” Holy Rome mumbled, marching back to his own tent in an irritated huff._ _

__On his way back, he brought a hand back up to the little flower he wore in his pocket. France had implied that the flower had some deeper meaning behind it, but Holy Rome was at a loss. Deciding that it wasn’t worth his time, he put his head down and rushed back to where he was sure Italy would be waiting for him._ _

__Indeed when he returned he found Italy fiddling idly with that small dagger he always seemed to be carrying. However, he was quick to tuck it away when he was made aware of the blond’s arrival, “Holy Rome, you’re back!”_ _

__Holy Rome immediately felt some of his annoyance fade when the small nation flew forward to hug him. He patted him back with a deep sigh of relief._ _

__Italy pulled away with a bright smile, “How was big brother France?”_ _

__And just like that, Holy Rome could feel something akin to anger crawl back under his skin. The frenchman always knew exactly what to say to piss him off, this time being no exception, “Just as infuriating as always.”_ _

__Italy pouted, “Did you even try to get along with him?”_ _

__With a heavy sigh, Holy Rome realized that he really didn’t. Sure, he didn’t lash out, but it wasn’t like he made the conscious effort to be friendly. The blame didn’t rest entirely on his shoulders, but he still felt just a tinge of remorse, “I’m sorry, but he made it… profoundly difficult.”_ _

__With a fond roll of his eyes, Italy let it go, “Well, as long things ended peacefully. That was a really scary battle.”_ _

__Holy Rome nodded in agreement, finding the ferocity of the battle rather disturbing himself. Apparently Italy had spent his time in the medical bay yet again, so it was likely that he’d seen some of the more gruesome injuries._ _

Suddenly, he remembered the not-so-subtle comments that France had made about Italy, about how much he’d just _love a new colony._ Holy Rome shuddered at the mere thought, turning back to Italy with just a touch of desperation, “Hey, what’s with that dagger you’re always looking at?” 

__Italy looked like he’d just been caught, although he hadn’t done anything wrong. He cast his eyes to the ground with a mumbled, “Oh, it was just a gift from Grandpa Rome, so…”_ _

__With a short nod, Holy Rome asked seriously, “Have you ever been taught to use it properly?”_ _

__Italy shook his head with a curious gleam in his eyes, “I never learned how to fight.”_ _

__Holy Rome smiled softly, “Would you like to learn?”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy, so I promise that I haven't abandoned this lmao.
> 
> I was pretty lit to add France to this, hopefully y'all liked him to! 
> 
> If you're interested, look up the symbolism of a cornflower (and a picture) because they're actually really pretty!
> 
> Welp, that's all I got. Let me know what ya think, and thank you so much for reading!!


	6. Chapter 6

Italy moved slowly, and without any type of grace as he tried to get used to this new position. He stood in an awkward stance, his mind conjuring up the most villainous character he could imagine — a burly soldier, muscles rippling, and sword poised to stab through his small body. He was wearing thick armor, his face obscured by a visor (a feature that was perhaps a little dated, but Italy couldn’t bear to see the face of his ‘victim’). 

Finally with a foe to defeat, Italy gripped the sword in his hand a little tighter. He imagined the enemy approaching him, quick and unrelenting — just the way it would be in a real battle. Italy felt his heartbeat pick up, his body freezing for just an instant, but it was enough. Suddenly, the enemy was upon him, and all Italy could do was whip the blade down in an awkward slashing movement in hopes it would repel the enemy, and-

“You need to move your feet!”

Italy flinched at the order, the imaginary foe dissipating at once. He peered up through long lashes, tears of frustration blurring his vision, to see Holy Rome’s stern eyes fixed on him. Italy felt a sharp tug in his chest, disappointed in himself, “I’m trying, honest!”

“I know you are, but this is really important.” Holy Rome said, standing just a short ways off. “If you don’t move your feet, the enemy is going to out-maneuver you.”

Italy chewed at his bottom lip, which was chapped from the hours he’d spent abusing it. In one of his sweaty hands was the sword Holy Rome had leant him for practice, the leather handle smooth and well-worn. The blade itself gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun, sharp and devastatingly dangerous. All it took was one wrong move, one misstep and Italy would cut himself on it. While the injury wouldn’t be fatal to a being such as he, it would surely earn him a trip to the medical tent. 

When it seemed as though Italy had frozen up, Holy Rome sighed. He dropped his stern expression and approached the other nation, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

“No, it’s alright.” Italy mumbled, standing timidly before him. “I know I should be better at this by now, but… but I really don’t like fighting.”

Indeed, Italy should’ve been better with a sword by now, him and Holy Rome having practiced every day for weeks. It wasn’t like Italy was paralyzed by fear at the thought of battle or anything. After all, he’d been a firsthand witness to the fall of the Roman Empire — a centuries long, and bloody affair. He’d been desensitized to violence in its many forms, but the thought of another being falling by his hand was just a bit overwhelming. Italy was painfully aware of how short humans’ lives were, it seemed unfair for him to cut them down when he himself would live for centuries longer than they.

“You’re thinking too much.” Holy Rome’s gaze softened, outstretching his hand in the space between them. “Here, let me show you.”

Italy wordlessly handed the blade over, happy to be rid of the weapon. 

“You have to be light on your feet, but you still need a solid base.” Holy Rome said, immediately dropping into a fighter’s stance. His feet were shoulder-width apart, his body relaxed, but poised to attack. “Stay balanced, and the moment you have an opening, attack!”

At the last word, Holy Rome thrust his arm out and stabbed the pile of hay that was piled high for the horses. The movement was so quick, so precise that Italy had only barely followed the action before it was over. With wide eyes, he stared down at his own hands, wondering if they would ever master the art of swordsmanship. It certainly didn’t feel that way, and especially after watching Holy Rome handle the blade with such ease while he struggled so terribly.

Holy Rome removed the sword from the pile of hay, handing the blade back over with a small smile, “Don’t worry if you’re not very good at first, it takes practice.”

Italy nodded, accepting the sword, “I know, but Holy Rome just makes it look so easy!”

Holy Rome shrugged, some of his earlier confidence lost as his voice took on an awkward edge. “It’s the same for me, you know.”

“It is?” Italy asked, twisting his head curiously to the side.

“It’s like when you taught me to paint.” Holy Rome said, adamantly refusing eye contact. “I’m still not very good at it, but you’re amazing.”

For the first time that afternoon, Italy relaxed. He smiled after the blond, finding that his cheeks were flushed in his embarrassment. It was just like Holy Rome to be stern in his actions and words one moment, then devolve into a blushing, anxious mess the next. It made him feel less self-conscious about his skill (or lack thereof) with a blade. Just because Italy excelled in one art, and Holy Rome in another, didn’t mean one was inferior to the other. He could learn. He would learn. 

Italy breathed in deeply, raising his sword and trying to imitate Holy Rome’s stance from earlier. When the blond backed off to give him space, Italy conjured up the imaginary enemy again. He had to consciously make the effort to relax his shoulders and bend his knees to bounce lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Good.” Holy Rome said, arms crossed as he watched with an appraising eye. “Stay light on your feet, and when there’s an opening-”

Italy attacked, thrusting the blade upwards into the hay, where it was subsequently buried. He stood there for a moment, revelling in how natural that movement had felt. He looked down, finding that his feet had shifted forward. Italy turned a blinding smile to Holy Rome, “I moved my feet!”

Holy Rome smiled back, nodding once, “See how much of a difference it makes?”

Italy nodded excitedly, extracting the blade from the hay, “It did! It felt completely different!”

“Then you’re doing it right.” Holy Rome said, his smile undeniably proud. “I knew you had it in you.”

Italy would have rushed the blond with a hug, but he was still holding a rather dangerous tool. So he approached cautiously, keeping the blade aimed at the ground before handing it hilt first to Holy Rome. When the blond accepted and sheathed the blade, Italy threw caution to the wind and tackle-hugged him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Holy Rome caught him, having grown used to these sudden episodes of clinginess. That didn’t make his face any less red, however, but he could now withstand such closeness without freezing up. “I didn’t do a thing, it was all you.”

“But I never would have figured it out if Holy Rome hadn’t taught me!” Italy said, pulling back just enough that his smile could be seen properly. “Even if I don’t like fighting, I want to be able to protect the people I love, too. You’re helping me do that, so thank you.”

Those sincere words caused Holy Rome to smile, however faint it was. He pulled Italy back in for a hug, mumbling as he did so, “I hope it never comes to the point where you have to fight. I want to always be there to protect you.”

Italy could have melted, a sudden fluttering in his stomach catching him off guard. He’d experienced that feeling before, but he couldn’t quite place what it meant. Italy quickly decided that it wasn’t important because, well, the feeling wasn’t exactly _bad._ So instead, Italy pulled away, offering a hand for the blond to take.

Holy Rome did after a moment, and in the next, he was jerked abruptly forward. He stumbled, some of that athletic grace lost as he was pulled haphazardly along, “Italy, where are we going?”

“To the river!” Italy giggled, glancing over his shoulder with a short explanation. “I’ve been practicing all day, and I’m finally getting better! Now it’s time for Holy Rome to practice his painting!”

“Oh, I don’t know if…” Holy Rome trailed off, simply staring into Italy’s wide, honey eyes. He could never withstand that gaze for long, and after another beat, he relented. “Alright, I guess you’re right.”

“Yay!” Italy cried, pulling him along with renewed vigor. 

They took a short detour to their tent to retrieve Italy’s art supplies before finally sitting along the water’s edge. A gentle breeze weaved its way through dappled leaves, the gentle gurgling sound of the river creating a faint melody that Italy was all too happy to be lost to. The rest of the day was spent in quiet bliss, and even if Holy Rome didn’t show the same improvement that Italy did that day, it was still perfect. 

Everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, I abandoned this thing for like 8 months oof. I am so sorry, but here's a new chapter I guess >_<
> 
> This one was shorter, and not a lot happened since I'm trying to get used to writing little Italy and HRE again. But I do have a plot in mind, and there will be some more characters introduced pretty soon. Also, I always forget that Italy is like a phenomenal fencer in canon, and I think it's a bit of a shame that it's never explored more (Hopefully something in season 7???)
> 
> Anways, I really can't tell y'all when this is going to be updated, but I will make it a point to write for this story when I have the time. Thanks for reading, I really hoped you liked it!


End file.
